by Joanna Gilman Hyde

The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:30pm

My Mother’s Death is sewed up

in that wretched little town —

I don’t have to live there any-more —

Her House is sold with The Shower of Lights

fixed in a poem

I’ll never set foot again

inside that sordid little hospital

where She was stationed for over a year

& where She Evaporated Into Thin Air

on A Saturday Night

twenty years ago